


Belonging

by LJMouse



Series: Gifts & Prompts [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Porn IS the plot, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 09:57:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9118630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LJMouse/pseuds/LJMouse
Summary: Written for Kuukkeli.Set after the battle with the stone warriors.Drift has never truly belonged anywhere before. He dreamed that Ratchet would come looking for him, but never expected it to happen. After all, he's never mattered to anyone that much in his life and nobody's ever cared enough to find him and bring him home.Ratchet cares. More than that, Ratchet loves him. Drift loves him back. Neither ever expected to have their love reciprocated.However, they wouldn't be Ratchet and Drift if they didn't snark at each other, at least a little.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kuukkeli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuukkeli/gifts).



> Find me on Tumblr @ https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ljmouse/.

Ratchet's shuttle, unlike Drift's ship, was clean. It was brightly lit, in good repair, and the engines hummed steadily as they headed out of the system.  Ratchet was very glad to be leaving the whole crazy mess with the stone soldiers behind, and to be doing so in a ship he trusted not to fall apart -- or give him cosmic rust from the sheer grunge level -- on the way.

As soon as they were clear of the planet's gravity well, he set the shuttle to autopilot and scanned Drift for injuries. He had done so before, but he did it again. It seemed hard to believe that Drift was here before him, alive and relatively whole, and he wasn't about to risk losing him to something completely stupid and treatable now. Then, out of an abundance of cynicism, he scanned Drift for a third time.

Despite his paranoia, the scans showed Drift was fine. Despite a rather intense battle, neither of them were badly hurt, though both needed extensive minor repairs, body work, and a bath. The last was now his most pressing desire.

The shuttle was small, and the wash rack consisted of a tiny cubicle with a badly placed shower head, insufficient solvent pressure, and a slow drain. Despite its shortcomings, however, Ratchet was glad to see it, but then -- after a good hard look at Drift, who had been far dirtier than Ratchet for far longer -- he made an "after you" gesture towards it.

"Are you saying I stink?" Drift said, with a smirk, even as he leaned in to the tiny wash rack to adjust the temperature. 

Ratchet considered several suitably pithy responses, then settled on the simplest, "Yes."

Drift gave him a one-finger Earthly salute that he'd probably learned  _ from  _ Ratchet, stepped into the tiny stall, and locked the door after himself. Ratchet, for a moment, leaned against the wall and just stared at the closed door.

Drift was safe. Alive, safe, and finally on his way home. He'd never told the young warrior how much he actually liked him, and Drift likely had no idea how much he had been missed. He regretted that. Ratchet was aware that Drift was ... had always been ... an outsider, for all his effort to belong, and Ratchet wondered if Rodimus would ever truly appreciate how much he'd hurt Drift by sending him away for no slagging good reason.

Ratchet wished he'd gone after Drift sooner. He also promised himself that he would give Rodimus the earful of ire that he deserved when he got back, and maybe a few wrenches to the helm for good measure.

While Drift was washing up, Ratchet set a cube of energon to warm on a hotplate, added some metals that would help with healing their minor hurts, then ducked into the med bay to take stock of his supplies. The med bay was fairly well equipped for the sort of minor repairs they needed, but he decided that replacing damaged sensors, pulling dents, and buffing out scratches could wait until tomorrow. 

Drift was done surprisingly quickly, and he'd done a thorough job, too. He smelled of Ratchet's favorite orange-scented cleanser when he stepped out, rather than old grease, dirt, exhaust fumes, congealed energon and cordite. 

Ratchet then took his turn in the wash rack. The 'rack was awkward: it was too small, the shower head was too low even for a relatively short mech like Ratchet, and it had an inbuilt seat that jutted out from the wall in a strange place. He had to twist around the seat and bend over to get his helm under the flow of hot solvent. At first, the fluid that trickled down his frame turned the color of chocolate, and it took longer than he cared to admit to get all the grunge from his joints and out from under his armor. Finally, though, he was clean and the water ran clear.

His spinal struts twinged and his hips complained as he scrubbed himself. The wash rack seat was too low and too strangely placed to actually sit on and still be under the flow of solvent, and his joints were old and battered. It hurt to bend over to fit under the shower head.

"Damnit," he grumbled, as he finally stepped out. He was now moving a bit awkwardly, as both the strange positions he’d had to take in the tiny wash rack and the strain of the battle affected him. He was stiffening up, and he knew he'd hurt even more after a recharge. 

"Were you injured?" Drift said, appearing from the shuttle's single small berth room at the back of the craft. 

"Not really, just getting old." Ratchet tried to stretch a kink out of his back strut, then winced as his hydraulics cramped up. 

"Here." Drift pressed a cube of the warmed energon into his hand.

Ratchet drained it in one long pull, and only then realized how underfueled he was. Drift had probably been the same, as Drift's share of the meal was already gone. He dispersed the cube with a twitch of his fingers, then flinched as his back spasmed again.

"I can probably help with that," Drift said, a diffident offer. He looked up at Ratchet and added hesitantly, "I'm good at massage. If you want."

Ratchet, normally, would have dismissed Drift's concern with an impatient grunt. However, he saw the insecurity in Drift's expression and he thought that Drift was probably terrified of rejection. It was an unwarranted fear. Ratchet liked Drift, for all his new age woo-woo and crap. Letting Drift fuss over him might help Drift feel a bit more secure.

"Okay."

Drift, as it turned out, had skilled fingers, and he used both his hands and his field to manipulate Ratchet's kinked and stressed cables. He was good at it, and Ratchet sighed with relief. Maybe he wouldn't be completely crippled up in the morning, after all. 

Drift was just so gorgeous, really. He was slim and athletic, smart and funny, and he'd overcome so very much in his life to become the mech he was today. Ratchet, despite his complaints and griping, really did care about the mech ... and if he was honest with himself, he had since he'd first met him, when he was a strung out prostitute living on the streets. Even then, there'd been something different about Drift, something that had set him apart, but Ratchet still knew just how badly the odds had been stacked against that one-time homeless addict.

Now, though, his feelings went far beyond just  _ liking  _ Drift. He desired him, but he didn't think that Drift would ever reciprocate. Drift could have half the available mechanisms on the ship with just a smile, and what would a warrior like Drift want with a tired old medic like Ratchet? 

However, it was so easy to imagine that bright smile of Drift's aimed in his direction, particularly with Drift's fingers right this minute sliding under his armor in a -- damnit, he had to remember this -- in a strictly platonic fashion. The massage was not intimate in nature. Drift had offered the massage just to be kind, right?

Despite himself, thinking about Drift's smiling just for him brought heat to his interface array and an uncontrollable surge to his field. He could have kicked his own aft for that. He didn't want to make the mech uncomfortable.

Drift felt it, too. His hands stilled. 

"Sorry." Ratchet said, then mumbled something about arousal being a wholly natural reaction to being touched.

"You came to get me," Drift said, quietly, "when nobody else did. Ratchet, I dreamed of you coming for me, and then you did." 

"You dreamed of me ...?" That was news to Ratchet.

"I daydreamed about you all the time," Drift said, with a soft sigh. "But I never expected it to really happen. I didn't think I mattered to you that much."

Then Drift was crawling up onto the berth, and pressing himself to Ratchet's back in a way that utterly unexpected and very definitely not platonic. He buried his face in Ratchet's neck. His ventilations were hot against Ratchet's frame, and he smelled clean, of solvent and cleanser, and his field was rich and warm with longing and desire. 

Ratchet had never expected Drift to make a move. He hadn't tracked down Drift with any expectation of his own daydreams being fulfilled. He'd done it because Drift had been wronged, and because that wrong needed to be set right. Drift was a good mech, someone Ratchet ... if he was honest with himself, someone Ratchet loved, but he never expected that love to be reciprocated.

He still wasn't sure he was reading Drift's intentions right. "Drift. Drift, are you coming on to me?"

"Only if you want me to." 

"... Yes. Yeah, I want that."  _ YES _ . Interest flared in his field, and Drift responded by nuzzling the back of Ratchet's neck. 

Ratchet groaned, and rolled over. Drift let him, and Ratchet was surprised to feel a flare of uncertainty in Drift's field. He sat up, and met Drift's gaze as Drift sat too, and he said, "Quite honestly, Drift, I want more than just a frag from you, if you're interested. You're an annoying glitch half the time, and you're annoyingly right the other half, and you're more holier than thou than Optimus all of the time, but this is me telling you I think I love you." 

Drift's field flared outward with real surprise, and joy. "Really?" 

"No. I hate you. I just spent months hunting the galaxy for you because I never wanted to see your face again."

Drift replied, his deadpan tone matching Ratchet's delivery, "I hate you too."

Had Drift just implied what Ratchet thought he had? Ratchet could only stare at him in shock.

Drift met his gaze, but then he looked down, and away to the side, and returned to that too-quiet tone of voice when he said, "Ratchet, I dreamed that you might come looking for me, but I never thought it would happen. I ... have never had anyone come looking for me before. I've never belonged anywhere, not really. You knew me as a street kid, a hooker and a junkie, and nobody missed me when I disappeared from the streets."

He continued, fists clenching, "I was a valued fighter and officer with the Deceptions, but ... I didn't belong with them. I ended up not just exiled from them, but fleeing for my life."

Drift met Ratchet's gaze, now, and said, "And I didn't really belong on Theophany either, not after Wing died. I didn't have friends there, and there was nothing to hold me there. Theophany wasn't home, not really. And Wing was ... Wing was special to me, but he was also my captor. I wasn’t free to  _ leave  _ Theophany, and that mattered.”

Ratchet reached out, resting his hand on Drift's fingers. Drift turned his palm over and gripped Ratchet's fingers tightly. 

The swordsmech continued, "And then I thought I had a home on the Light ... but they sent me away too. I thought Rodimus was my friend, but he didn't care enough about me to stand by my side.  Ratchet, I would have died for him. I've risked my life countless times for him. But he let me take the fall. Forget  _ coming after me _ , he  _ exiled  _ me. And I thought he was my best friend!"

Ratchet laced his fingers through Drift's, and exhaled softly. He was going to kill Rodimus when he saw him next.

"And now there's you. I love you, Ratchet, and I have for a long time, but I didn't think I mattered to you. Ratchet, you came looking for me." Drift pressed a kiss to the back of Ratchet's hand. "That means more to me than you could ever know." 

Ratchet reached out with his free hand, and stroked the side of Drift's face with his knuckles. "You'll always have a place with me, and I'll always come looking for you." 

"I believe you." Drift was looking at him with bright optics, mouth slightly parted, and his field was full of desire and love and sudden, dawning, realization that this was real, that Ratchet was here, and that Ratchet wanted him. 

Ratchet leaned forward, and kissed Drift, and Drift responded with an overwhelming, enthusiastic  **_yes_ ** in his field. Ratchet couldn't help but clutch at him, pulling him close, hands sliding over that sleek and slender frame. His fingers caught on the dents and scrapes and scuffs, and he found wanted to buff and polish Drift to perfection. He wanted to erase every last sign of the deprivation and loneliness that Drift had suffered.

For now, though,  he just wanted to lay him down and kiss him until they were both starved for oxygen and ventilating hard.

Drift's hands caressed his frame, exploring, touching anything he could reach. His touch was leisurely, unhurried, and Ratchet took his cue from that. This was not really about lust. 

"Do you prefer your spike or your valve?" Ratchet asked. He honestly had no idea which Drift preferred; Ratchet himself was comfortable with either option. 

Drift, underneath him, stiffened for a second at the question, and then said, "Normally ... I prefer my spike."

"That's fine with me." Ratchet could easily imagine Drift pressing into him with skill that was only enhanced by the real love that was now strong in Drift's field. Drift's weight on his frame, the heat and low rumble of his power plant, the higher whine of his fans, his hands on Ratchet's frame, and the hot, hard stretch of Drift's spike in his valve ... 

"No." Drift's hands traced an old scar that crossed the small of Ratchet's back. It wasn't visible unless you looked very close, but it could be felt if one took a bit of time and had sensitive fingers. Ratchet had a lot of scars like that, courtesy of a long war. "No. Ratchet, I want you to spike me. Please."

Drift trailed off, and again met Ratchet's optics when Ratchet propped himself up on his hands and looked down at him. There was something very vulnerable in that look, and Drift's hands stilled on Ratchet's plating. Ratchet held his gaze, and found himself smiling even as his field surged with love and affection.

This was, Ratchet thought, about trust, and surrender, and acceptance, and connection. 

Drift spread his legs, and Ratchet nestled between them without ever losing optic contact. Drift said, "You're my whole world, Ratchet. Right now, you're everything."

Ratchet shook his head and gently corrected, “I don’t want to be your whole world."

He thought that Drift needed more friends than just himself. Everything that Drift had disclosed to him told him Drift needed to belong, and to be a part of the team, and he needed people who would fight for him and trust him and never let him go again. Ratchet was going to see that he was treated the way he deserved, too. He had a few choice words in mind for a few mechs, too, starting with Rodimus and working his way down the whole entire crew roster.

Ratchet, however, couldn't be Ratchet without a bit of sass that only halfway concealed honest feelings. He added, with a bit of a smirk, “I don’t want to be your whole world. Just the best part of it."

He expected Drift to grin, since his delivery had been teasing even if he actually, truly, meant the words. He  _ did  _ want to be the best part of Drift’s world.

What he didn't expect was for Drift to keen a cry that was a mix of joy and old sorrows, even as the swordsmech spread his legs wider and wrapped his arms around Ratchet in a tight embrace. He'd come completely undone at those words, rather than laughing. "Make love to me, Ratchet," Drift said. "Make love to me like nobody ever has before."

Of all the sappy ... had anyone else uttered a line like that to Ratchet, he would have responded with sarcasm and snark. For Drift, however, he simply said, "Okay." Drift, too, meant his words.

Drift's optics were soft, the deepest blue that Ratchet ever remembered seeing, and he focused on Ratchet's face as if Drift had never truly seen him before.

When he pressed into Drift's valve, Drift cried out, and shifted beneath him, and arched upwards, without ever losing optic contact. "Oh, Ratchet. Ratchet, you are definitely the best part of my world."

"Mmmhmm." Ratchet shifted a bit, changing the angle. One of the good things about age was experience. He hit a whole new set of sensor clusters with his next thrust, and Drift made the most delightful groaning cry. 

Drift's valve was hot, and tight, and his hands were finding the most sensitive spots on Ratchet's frame. His calipers squeezed tight as Ratchet rolled his hips and pressed in again, and his fingers traced down the transformation seams on Ratchet's chest, and his gaze ... it was so clear, and focused, and that smile on Drift's lips was surely a smile he'd only ever had for Ratchet. Ratchet wanted to see him smile like that again and again, a million times again.

It was Ratchet's turn to cry out, and then Drift echoed him with a long, low, gasp as Ratchet reached down with one hand and stroked Drift's spike where it was hot and hard between them. He propped himself up with his other hand, and he looked down, watching Drift's expression, as Drift gazed back up. 

Drift came first, with a ragged cry followed by several panting gasps, and the hot hard squeeze of his calipers and the flare of his field sent Ratchet toppling after him in a heated rush. 

Drift's eyes flickered as he struggled to stay conscious. Failing that, Drift's last words, before he passed out from overloaded circuits were, "I love you, Ratchet."

"Love you too," Ratchet said, as he slumped to the side and gathered the other mech close. Static filled his vision and his words were thick with emotion, but he didn't completely slide into oblivion. A fierce impulse to protect and watch over the mech in his arms kept him just this side of consciousness so he held Drift in his arms, and waited, watching with affection, as Drift's circuits reset. First, Drift was limp and still, but then his capacitors whined back online, and his hydraulics pressurized. His fans spun up, and his armor twitched and rattled. A foot moved, then in unconscious reflex, his fingers curled around Ratchet's hand. His lips lifted into something resembling that intimate little smile. His optics started to glow.

It was all entrancing to watch, even for a medic who, during his very long functioning, had watched a million mechanisms in his med bay power up from stasis.

When Drift awoke, it was with a bit of a start. He was disoriented for a second, and then he saw Ratchet, and he utterly relaxed. "Nobody's ever knocked me offline before."

"Really?" Ratchet said, a bit surprised. It happened to everyone, sooner or later, if they were with a lover they trusted and with whom they could truly let go. Had Drift never had a lover like before? Somehow, he knew the answer to that unspoken question was 'yes.' 

Voice a bit rough with emotion, Ratchet said, "You should get some recharge."

"Yeah." Drift said, but then he reached up and kissed Ratchet for a long, intimate moment. "You'll stay with me tonight, right?"

Ratchet could have answered with many snarky responses. 'Shuttle only has one berth,' was at the forefront. However, because it was Drift, his answer was simply, "Yeah, I'll stay with you, Drift. I'll be right here."

They drifted off into recharge together, pressed close, and Ratchet's last conscious thought was that he was never, ever, going to let Drift go. 

 


End file.
